


Touch in the Dark

by do_i_know_you



Series: Gallavich Domestic Fluff [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Rape/Non-con, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich Needs a Hug, Missing Scene, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Ian Gallagher, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Swearing, Terry Milkovich's A+ Parenting, and he gets one :'), i guess??, no beta we die like men, this is set somwhere after 11x03, you know... cuz it's shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_i_know_you/pseuds/do_i_know_you
Summary: And maybe Mickey did go soft (he definitely knew he did) but he found himself giving in. “Just had a weird dream.”“Weird?”“More like bad. Really bad.”There was a beat of silence before Ian spoke. “D’you wanna talk about it? Maybe it would help or something.”No, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to even think about it. But as much as he fucking hated to admit it, Ian was probably right – maybe it would help a bit to talk sometimes. Because that’s what marriage was about, wasn’t it? Figuring shit out together. And they definitely haven’t been doing that lately....or: Mickey has a nightmare about the past.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Gallavich Domestic Fluff [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153040
Comments: 16
Kudos: 266





	Touch in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> This is my first work for this fandom so go a little easy on me. Comments and critiques are very welcome.  
> Sorry for any spelling mistakes, English isn't my first language and I wrote this in the middle of the night instead of sleeping :).

_“What, Mandy wasn’t enough for you?”_

_A punch, Ian falling on the couch, blood on his face and dripping down his chest. Time seemed to stop for Mickey as more punches kept coming, his dad straddling Ian’s body, fists coming down, screaming words that Mickey couldn’t register because it was all happening so fucking fast._

_He could hear his heart pounding, his blood racing and was vaguely aware of words coming out his own mouth. He didn’t know when he moved until his limbs were wrapped around Terry’s back, dragging him away from Ian._

_But not far enough. Never far enough._

_Next thing he knew, Terry was on top of him, punching his face bloody, but Mickey couldn’t bring himself to care. Because every hit to his face was one that could’ve been to Ian’s, every stab of pain was one that Ian could’ve felt._

_“No son of mine is gonna be a goddam aids monkey.”_

_Next there was a click of a gun, which he hardly heard through the darkness pooling at his vision. His dad was speaking on the phone, but it was like Mickey’s head was under water and then everything turned black._

_The next thing he remembers is the smell of cheap perfume, almost suffocating him, but not as much as her weight on top of him. There are cold hands on his chest, slim fingers wrapping around his arms and he feels almost sick as she lowers herself._

_“She’s gonna fuck the faggot out of you.”_

_Ian’s eyes are staring back at him, sad and shiny with tears and it makes his skin crawl. Her touch is fucking everywhere and he just lets it happen, because there’s a gun and too many bullets for Ian to be safe._

_He just wanted it to fucking stop._

_“She’s gonna fuck the faggot out of you.”_

_The words kept echoing in his fucking head, somehow louder than the buzzing sound in his ears._

_He fucking wanted his dad to pull the trigger in that moment._

_He never wanted anything more._

_But Ian’s eyes - so fucking green and shiny – were still on him and it was all too fucking much._

_“I do.” He said it but he didn’t want to. His skin was crawling again and he never hated himself more. She was wearing that perfume and it made his stomach turn, head becoming dizzy._

_Ian’s eyes were on him again, but this time he couldn’t look._

_Big blue eyes were staring back at him, seemingly so innocent, but he knew better. Every time he saw them, he could feel her heat around him, her weight on top, her face under him._

_Every time he hated himself more._

_He could feel the loneliness pulling him in, threatening to swallow him whole._

_Ian was in the mental hospital._

_Then he ran away._

_Ian didn’t want him anymore, didn’t even visit him in prison._

_He left him at the fucking border._

_And Mickey was all alone again, because that’s all he was ever meant to be._

_A lonely fucking aids monkey._

_“She’s gonna fuck the faggot out of you.”_

When Mickey woke up, he could hardly breathe. His chest felt heavy, like there was a pile of rocks pressing down on it, making his breaths shallow. He could still feel her touch all over his skin, now covered in cold sweat.

But there were no rocks and there was no Svetlana, only his husband’s arm wrapped tightly around him, pulling him back to his chest. And while most nights he would more than appreciate the touch, in that moment it made him want to crawl out of his own fucking skin.

Mickey pushed the arm away, making Ian grumble something in his sleep, but he didn’t wake up, only turned around and cocooned himself into the comforter on the other side of the bed.

Mickey scrambled to sit up, but the movement just made him sick to the stomach, bile rising in his throat. He was quick on his way to the bathroom, but made sure not to make too much noise to wake his husband - or anyone else – up. He dry-heaved into the toilet for what felt like hours, but nothing came up. When it finally stopped, he toppled down to the tiled floor and leaned with his back to the wall. His throat burned and the sick feeling hadn’t gone away.

The door was still open, he noticed and cringed when he realized how loud he must’ve been. But nobody seemed to have been woken up by the noises - probably the result of living with Frank for years and years of his drunken escapades. Not like his house was any better. When he was little there weren’t many noises he couldn’t sleep through. That was before every sound made his fight or flight response mode trigger, before the- whatever you wanna call that fucked up shit.

And just like that the memory was back, the dream vivid in his mind. Mickey swore he could smell Svetlana’s cheap-ass perfume again, and wasn’t that fucked up? That he could still remember exactly how it smelled after _years._

And now it was everywhere. The bathroom suddenly felt too small and cagey for him to breathe and before he knew it, he was stumbling down the stairs to the kitchen. He didn’t even think about it, his body working on its own as he reached for the fridge and pulled out a beer. He took big gulps and downed the whole thing in record time, before pulling out another one and making his way through the living room door and to the couch. He didn’t even turn on the lights, didn’t even need to, not after years of walking around this house that was more of a home than his own ever was.

He sat on the couch, lit up a cigarette and took a big gulp of his second beer. It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the darkness with the street light peeking through the window.

First, he tried to keep his head empty, tried desperately not to think of the dream or anything else, but that didn’t work at all, so he decided to occupy himself by looking around the room. He tried focusing on every detail- tried to remember how long that plastic toy hammer has been lying under the table, when were the pictures above the fire place taken, if that stain was on the wall six years ago when he was first staying in the Gallagher house. And that did help, just a little. His heart’s calmed down and his breathing was back to normal.

He was halfway through his second cigarette and taking a final gulp of his beer when the stairs behind him creaked. Mickey didn’t know why he turned around as quickly as he did, not when he already knew it was probably Ian or some other Gallagher, but his body was still too on edge as he flinched at the sound.

It was Ian – of course it was – and Mickey relaxed, taking another long drag before exhaling the smoke.

“Mickey? What are you doing here?”

“Nothin’. Sorry if I woke you up,” Mickey answered, settling back into the couch. He heard more steps and then a hand was placed on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“You didn’t. Woke up to go piss and saw you weren’t there. You okay?”

Fuck no, of course he wasn’t. But he also wasn’t pussy enough to admit he got so worked up over a fucking _dream_ like some sort of 10 year old kid, crying to his mama.

“Yeah, man, just wanted some beer.”

“At 3 am?” Ian asked, sitting down next to Mickey and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Mickey didn’t answer, just leaned into his husband’s warm touch. “Jesus, Mick, you’re fucking freezing.”

And yeah, he was feeling a little cold. He didn’t exactly have time to put on anything other than the boxers he fell asleep in (and sleeping in his boxers was rare enough, so that was quite conveniently timed) and the first t-shirt he got a hold of on their bedroom floor.

“I’m fine.”

“Well, c’mon, let’s go back to bed so we can get you under the blanket.”

No, he didn’t want to fucking do that, didn’t want to be in that small room again right now and definitely didn’t want to shut his eyes again, when the only thing he’ll see will be Svetlana’s face staring back at him.

“No,” he said, definitely too quickly and he could tell that Ian noticed it too. “I mean, you do that. I don’t really feel like sleeping right now.”

Ian’s confused face turned to one of understanding as he probably caught on, or at least understood he shouldn’t push it.

“Alright, then come here,” he said, taking the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and motioned for Mickey to come closer. And he did, settling himself against Ian’s chest as his husband made himself comfortable lying on the couch, his legs spread for Mickey to lay between. He draped the blanket over them both once Mickey was settled. “You sure you're okay?” Ian asked again, his arms wrapping around Mickey to pull him closer, his left hand running up and down his back in soothing circles.

And maybe Mickey _did_ go soft (he definitely knew he did) but he found himself giving in. “Just had a weird dream.”

“Weird?”

“More like bad. Really bad.”

There was a beat of silence before Ian spoke. “D’you wanna talk about it? Maybe it would help or something.”

 _No_ , he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to even think about it. But as much as he fucking hated to admit it, Ian was probably right – maybe it would help a bit to talk sometimes. Because that’s what marriage was about, wasn’t it? Figuring shit out together. And they definitely haven’t been doing that lately.

“Mostly just, uh, Svetlana,” Mickey started, hoping the implication was clear enough, “the bipolar thing and all the shit after.”

That was progress wasn’t it? He talked about it, even if it was vague as fuck, right?

He could feel Ian pressing a kiss to the top of his head, his lips lingering for a bit.

“So, you don’t want to go back to sleep then?” Ian asked, running his hand over the length of Mickey’s arm, then back down again, stopping to play with Mickey’s ring.

“Not really, just thought I might watch some TV or something. You should get some shut eye though, this shit ain’t worth losing your fucking sleep over.”

“Hey, if you’re staying, I’m staying, too.”

Ian took the remote from the table and turned the TV on, lowering the volume so that only murmurs could be heard. There was an old black and white movie playing. It looked familiar, probably an old classic that Mickey never had the chance (or desire) to see.

“Whatever, man, just don’t whine about how tired you are tomorrow,” he answered, even if he really only wanted to say _thank you._ He was sure his point came across clear when he heard Ian laugh.

“Like I ever complain about you making me stay up all night.”

Mickey smiled despite himself and they stayed like that for a while.

The movie was almost over when he realized it was the first time in days since they’ve gone this long without fighting. Guilt settled in Mickey’s chest.

“Ian?”

His husband hummed in response.

“Look, I’m sorry about all that job shit we’ve been fighting about-“ Mickey didn’t have the chance to finish before Ian started talking.

“No, hey, we don’t have to talk about that right now, okay? We don’t. It’s just,” he stopped for a moment, thinking about his next words, “I love you, Mick. _So fucking much_. And I need you to know that even when we’re fighting about everything, okay? That’ll never change.”

And maybe Mickey’s heart melted just a little bit. So, what? He’s well in his rights.

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

“Then we can talk about everything else in the morning.”

And that’s a good point, because Mickey knew that no matter how much they fought in the evening, they would always wake up wrapped in another with sleepy smiles on their faces.

Because Mickey was married to the love of his fucking fucked-up life and neither of them were prepared to let that go, _ever._

And with that thought buzzing around his brain, paired with the warmth and comfort of Ian’s hold, Mickey found himself drifting off to sleep, with his husband’s heart beating steadily against his ear, his mind saying _safe, safe, safe_ to the rhythm.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


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